


La Petite Mort

by lalalyds2



Series: Every Day A Little Death [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Asphyxiation, F/F, I can't believe I wrote this tbh, Sibling Incest, a little ooc at the end, because in this one Hilda's on top, going to hell in gucci flip flops, it's pretty much pwp, sort of angst, very saucy, with a lot of alliteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: La petite mort is an expression which means "the brief loss or weakening of consciousness" and in modern usage refers specifically to "the sensation of orgasm as likened to death." - Wikipedia"Really hot stuff that we're all damned for" - this writer





	1. What the fuck is wrong with me?

**Author's Note:**

> ummmmmm..... yeah. don't @ me  
> (unless you wanna)

When she was eight and young and very nearly innocent, Zelda knelt by the foot of Hilda’s bed and prayed.

Head down, hair tucked into the neck of her dress, tummy pushed out with a large inhaled breath, lips pursed in diligent fervor.

She prayed for her sister to find love.

Then she stood, walked three paces, knelt by her own bed, untucked her hair, sucked in her stomach, and prayed to find love.

It was all very strategic.

Prayers for one’s self, when done in excess, was selfish and tempted the Dark Lord’s patience.

That was something she could not do.

Stealing a sister’s prayer... well, that was merely a should not.

And should not she find love?

When asked, her parents would only laugh and say she was not old enough to understand what she was asking for.

Edward would sniff, and say the Dark Lord’s love was enough, and if she doubted it so, she should read the unholy book.

In their shared little bedroom, Hilda had clasped her hands and swore love was exactly what she deserved. That Hilda was going to find her a love, someday. He was going to be tall, and dark, and so handsome she could just cry.

Zelda assumed that blessing, of sorts, meant a sharing of little Hilda’s prayers.

Sisters shared all the time, didn’t they?

And Hilda loved to share.

Probably.

If given the chance, Zelda was sure she loved lending her books and dolls and biscuits.

That’s why she never bothered asking.

So Hilda wouldn’t mind lending a few prayers. It’s not like she needed them yet. She proclaimed to not need any love other than her sister’s, and she had that already.

Zelda craved love, the same way she craved to be either old enough to be included with her big cousins’ games, or young enough to still be held by her mother.

She craved it like she craved cigarettes, perched so nicely between her brother’s long fingers, his jaw long and gaze euphoric as he blew smoke like a dragon.

She craved love, and she was going to get it.

Her and Hilda’s stolen prayers made it inevitable.

And so, once she’d turned sixteen and signed the book and jumped a boy and made the earth shake as he promised he loved her, imagine her surprise that it all felt empty.

It all felt hollow.

It felt like nothing at all.

And imagine her surprise when she noticed little Hilda wasn’t so little anymore.

Imagine her surprise when she discovered Hilda had grown tits.

Pert, pink, voluptuous tits that didn’t quite fit the rest of her soft body but stood gloriously at attention in her thin silk nightgown.

Zelda moved into her own bedroom the very next day.

And it didn’t matter that Hilda had bawled her eyes out, or begged Zelda to tell her what she’d done wrong, so she could fix it. All that mattered was Zelda couldn’t breathe around her anymore, now that her sister had breasts and a pleading mouth and a heart she still professed belonged to Zelda.

Because now, Zelda wanted it.

And—obviously—she couldn’t have it.

So she left.

And it took all of hell and her own willpower to never answer Hilda’s question as to why.

Better to be silent than hated.

But Hilda wasn’t so easily dissuaded.

In the morning’s she’d wake up early, wait outside Zelda’s door to be the first to welcome her to the day.

She’d wait by the door for Zelda to come home from the Academy.

And she’d wait patiently, persistently, for her sister to acknowledge her existence.

It never happened.

And it was hurting her.

But it was killing Zelda.

Hilda’s presence made her want to swoon, as stupidly absurd as it was, and the kindness emanating from Hilda’s very being made her want to cry. Which she did  _not_  do. Anymore.

But she did not do enough to discourage her.

Hilda couldn’t stay away.

Zelda couldn’t come any closer.

What an idiotic hell to be in.

A game of cat and mouse, where Zelda was the cat who would die if she ever caught her sister mouse.

She wouldn’t be able to bear it if she ruined her sister.

So she decided to kill her.

It wasn’t so much a decision as it was a blind panic of lusty terror.

Hilda had gotten it into her pretty, stupid little skull that all they needed to do to fix this ever-gaping distance between them was to simply cross it.

The sweet ninny, she’d tiptoed her way into her sister’s room in only a silk nightie. With youthfully chubby fingers, she pulled back the covers and crawled into Zelda’s sleeping arms.

She’d missed this, being embraced.

She’d also missed entirely that her sister wanted nothing more than to embrace her.

Everything was quiet, and nice, and right.

Then Zelda woke up, her hand so low on Hilda’s waist it could be mistaken for her tight little buttocks.

Their lips were close, and she could feel every puff of Hilda’s sweet breath. It cloistered in the back of her throat like a minty tongue.

The space between her thighs started a hint of a throb.

If she’d gone back to sleep, they would have woken the next morning and still have been an older and younger sister.

Instead, she screamed something about silk.

Scrambling out of bed, deaf to Hilda’s confused and desperate pleas, she collided into her vanity with a solid thump.

Her hand landed on her sewing shears. Earlier, she’d been making Hilda a dress.

Now, those same scissors were plunged into Hilda’s precious neck, and her light was fading.

It took nearly six hours for that light to return, the sun had dawned before she did.

And Zelda had wept and held her and been forgiven and they had moved on.

But, between them, the world was shifted, was irrevocable.

Hilda did not climb into her bed again.

She still did not understand, but she stopped wearing silk.

And now Zelda understood what her parents had laughed about, when she’d said she wanted to find love.

She’d found it, as she’d prayed she always would. Too bad it could never be returned, she’d seen to that with a quick dig in a graveyard.

Turns out she’s always had that love, just not the way she wanted, and not a way that could ever be reciprocated.

How cruel was fate, how _ironic_. She got what she always wanted. Just not exactly.

And that made her furious.

 

~*~

 

It’s two centuries later, and Zelda had learned nothing.

Her sister had died more times than she could count on all her toes or fingers, and never once had her nerves been sated.

If anything, they were fraying more.

Because in all this time, with all this change, they were in separate bedrooms again.

Somehow, she couldn’t even remember if it was before or after Sabrina had arrived, they’d started sharing a room again.

It had helped soothe the ache in Zelda’s chest, whenever she’d turn in the night and see her sister there, though it never quenched the fire betwixt her thighs.

In those long, seemingly never-ending moments, she wouldn’t touch herself. Wouldn’t do anything but stare at her sister and wonder what kind of killing would finally get her out of her head.

She wouldn’t go through with it, of course. Not unless Hilda really deserved it.

Or if she made another comment about one of Zelda’s new wrinkles.

It’s her fault they’d gotten there anyway.

Zelda was stressed.

She could not find satisfaction. Not in the mortuary business, not in the occasional good fuck (of which there were many, mind you), not even in Sabrina’s ill-devised fits of beneficence.

There was a constant gnawing of her insides, and it only grew worse as her sister grew more distant.

It was for the best.

Who’s best, she wasn’t sure of anymore.

But Hilda seemed happy, with a job in a hovel and a bedroom too far from Zelda’s.

She hated that, but she had to let it go, lest her sister fully let go of her.

Being selfless was terrible.

But she had to try, because after all these years of forcing a distance, Hilda was finally obeying.

She’d never been more miserable.

But this was a choice she’d made ages ago—be a sister, not a lover.

A sister is not jealous, a sister is not overtly possessive, a sister does not kiss another sister.

What a terrible, Satan-awful choice.

But it was making Hilda happy, so that was enough.

Until Hilda came home giggling, vivacious and giddy all on her own without Zelda’s approval, and she smelled like a boy.

Or rather, a man.

A man had touched Zelda’s sister, probably kissed those pert, perfect tits she’s only been agonizing over for two centuries, and Hilda was  _giggling_  about it.

Completely unrighteous ire flooded Zelda’s entire being, and she stalked out of the house.

She grabbed a shovel and a hammer and an axe.

She was going to kill her sister, then she was going to kill that  _man_ , and then she was going to rip out everything in her pelvis.

Then maybe she could finally relax, her head and heart no longer pounding along to her traitorous desires, and things could finally go back to normal.


	2. What the FUCK is WRONG with me??

“Hullo, Zelds, I’ve just put the kettle on and we’ll be having tea in—Satan’s goat!”

She’d turned to greet Zelda too soon, hadn’t received a faceful of axe, and instead grabbed the handle right above the head, trying to wrestle it from her enraged sister.

Zelda pulled back, even as she pulled forward, creating the dumbest, deadliest tug of war they’d had since they were young and fighting over dollies.

“Bloody Hell, Zelda, what do you think you’re doing!”

“My Satan-given right!”

Because what she truly wanted to do, she had no right to.

"That's a load of hellrot!"

They continued their struggle, indeed looking like Punch and Judy if Punch and Judy were homicidal and desperate for the other to love them.

The only sounds between them were grunts of exertion, ire slowly fading as they both got tired of feigning hatred. Finally—

"Zelda, that's enough! Just—will you please—stop it!"

And Zelda just had to give up. What was the point of murdering her again anyway? No matter how or what, she couldn't force Hilda to love her.

At that thought, her strength left her, and Hilda successfully threw her would-be murder weapon onto the ground.

They stared at one another, chests heaving an awkward fire of rhythms, unsure of what to do now. Zelda'd never stopped before, once she'd set her mind to murder. And Hilda had never lived through it. Something needed to change. They both needed to breathe.

The shorter of the siblings took a deep, steadying breath... and immediately burst into tears.

A sniffly Hilda was something Zelda’s used to. A really and truly crying Hilda was something different.

Tension drained from her body and she scooped up her sister as though she were still little, sat right down on the cold hard floor, and settled Hilda solidly on her lap. The younger sister immediately curled into her form, as if they had not just been fighting, as if Zelda had not been one move away from ending her life again.

A wet nose dipped to the hollows of her throat. Zelda could feel her sister's heartbeat through it, felt it fluttering as quickly as her own. She swallowed hard.

Hilda smelled like lemons and flour and something so sweet it could only be her essence.

Zelda stuck her own nose in Hilda’s locks and breathed in deeply.

It caught in her throat when she felt full lips press a butterfly’s kiss onto her collarbones.

She pulled back a little, fingers carding through Hilda’s disheveled curls to form a semblance of a shape.

Everything felt oblong.

Hilda’s eyes were very wide, and very blue.

“You are a bloody wonder.”

“Thank you.”

“Believe you me, it was not a compliment.”

She couldn’t help but smile anyway, because she’s still clutching Hilda so tightly, and there was no resistance. They’re pressed up against each other, breathing and staring hard, and suddenly Zelda’s mouth went all dry.

She licked her lips, and Hilda’s seastruck eyes followed the pink tongue.

They both swallow audibly.

“I’m sorry, little goose,” Zelda breathed, calling her an ancient nickname, in both fondness and an attempt to remind herself that this was her  _sister_.

“I was angry.”

“About what?” And the poor dear was absolutely mystified.

It made her growl in want and warning.

“You damn well know what.”

“It’s not like I’m reading your mind.”

“Why not? It’s not like you can’t.”

Hilda’s laugh is disbelieving and oozing with frustration.

She’s wordless, for a moment, which is a feat in and of itself.

Then, quietly, “It’s not going to make me understand you any better.”

Her gaze fell, because she could only agree with that, and it only made her ache. Understanding meant discovery, of her terrible desires and her wildest insecurities and her cold, terrified soul. One look of true understanding, and Hilda would surely be running. So Zelda'd made sure she was too scared to look.

Little hands that never lost their youthful chub reached out to cup Zelda’s face. Scared eyes meet kind ones.

Her sharp inhalation is ignored.

“Why must you insist on killing me, instead of using your words, hmm?”

Her hands and tone were too soft for the ugly subject.

“That’s not a very efficient way to communicate.”

And Zelda laughs too, just as disbelievingly, because she’s not sure when Hilda got so much stronger than her.

Little Hilda, who’d always been underestimated by everyone, including her, taking the lead even when she was so afraid to give voice to her thoughts.

Neither sister was good at a real vulnerability, until now.

But Hilda had always been the braver one. Zelda knew you couldn’t be brave unless you were scared. Hilda was often scared, but faced it head on.

Zelda was rarely scared, because she rarely faced her own fears.

She’s not sure she could handle them now.

“Please...” her voice failed her, as Hilda’s wide eyes got wider, and her heart made residence in her throat.

“Don’t let that man touch you. I can’t bear it.”

And then Hilda was off her lap, she's clamping down the urge to pull her back, and Hilda was angry with her.

Tears started flowing again, salty and bitter and stained with bygone years of believing she was incapable of holding a love of her own. She pawed at her eyes once and glared at Zelda like something was breaking.

“Am I so wicked,” she said slowly, nostrils flaring as she struggled to breathe at an even pace. “Am I so outlandishly base, that I cannot keep even a semblance of a life for myself?”

“No,” Zelda’s on her hands and knees now, crawling as she had once in an awful dream, trying to finally cross that cavernous pit she’d created between her and her sister.

“No, you’re the exact opposite. That’s always been the problem.”

“It’s not a problem for him now, is it?” Her hiss was practically a screech, but that’s not what caused Zelda to wince.

“I have never been able to hold onto anything,” she’s swiping at her eyes again, so vicious with her own self. “I couldn’t hold onto our parents, or Edward, or even you. But I can hold onto him, for a little while. Why won't you let me?”

"You don't even love him." A weak, pitiful thing to say, but she needed it to be true. She needed Hilda to not be in love with him. She needed Hilda to be in love with _her_.

"I haven't had enough bloody time to learn! Honestly, Zelda—it's like you want me to be alone forever!" 

She couldn't be farther from the truth, but it was still a dagger to Zelda's heart. Because perhaps Hilda would rather be alone forever than ever be with her.

"You're not alone!" Zelda snapped, because it's true, and because it still hurt. Did she mean so little to her sister?

"You have me."

Hilda's laugh was dark, and bleeding, and it scared her. Because even with all her efforts, Hilda still sounded a little ruined.

"I've _never_ had you."

“I have always been there—“

“No, you haven’t!”

The truth hangs heavy in the air.

Hilda hiccups.

“I lost you so long ago, and you never told me why, and you never came back. And I know it’s my fault, but I’ve never known how to fix it.”

And then she’s back in Zelda’s arms, because Zelda lunged for her, and she didn’t even want to escape.

Because Zelda was holding her, so securely, as if she were something precious, and she was too tired to remember that was completely false.

“My little heart,” it came out so much more quavery than she’d intended.

“My Hilda, I’m sorry. Truly. I do want you to be happy, I just... don’t know how to want you to be happy without me.”

Another tiny, brave hiccup.

“I don’t know what that even  _means_ —“

And then Zelda’s kissing her, clinging to her, and kissing her some more. 

And her darling, her Hilda, her brighter half, was frozen completely still.

Internally, Zelda was panicking, because never in a million years had she planned their first kiss to be like this, with ugly crying and scraped knees and an axe so close to killing the only one she’d ever really wanted.

But Hilda tasted so sweet, even when her cheeks were salt-stained and blushing. Zelda could not help but hold them between her palms, licking along her deliciously full bottom lip, and pray her sister did  _something_.

Hilda just acted as though paralyzed.

She was about to give up again, hex her sister into forgetting this entire afternoon, or maybe even the whole past year, when it happened.

Hilda kissed her back.

And _oh_ , the noise that escaped her lips. It was keening, and thoroughly _not_ a sound Zelda made, but it felt delicious in her throat.

The floodgates rushed, and suddenly she knew what it was to feel wonder.

Wonder was Hilda’s lips on her own. Joy was Hilda’s tongue in her mouth. Completeness was Hilda slotting their bodies together, and they fit like that puzzle they'd never managed to finish.

And it could only be described as sweet, sweet victory when Zelda finally reached under her sister’s skirts, fingers dancing along the lines of her hips, then ribcage, and finally resting to cup those coveted and perfect tits.

Hilda jerked in her lap at the sensation but didn’t get up and leave her in disgust.

She stayed. And _moaned_.

And though she'd never believed it was the place for her, Zelda finally found heaven.

 

~*~

 

They’re still on the kitchen floor, Zelda leaning her back against the counter drawers, Hilda straddling her skirted thighs, mouths melding a union she'd always so longed for.

_So this is worldly bliss_ , Zelda thought.

Then, her sister pushed back, with a determined look on her face.

_Oh no, the regular world is back._

“We still haven’t talked.” Hilda was panting hard against her mouth, chest flushed and heaving so torturously gentle and good against Zelda.

“We have all the time in the world for that,” Zelda muttered, chasing after her lips.

Her sweet, insufferable little sister only turned her head.

“We also have all the time in the world for sex.”

It spoken so boldly, it stopped Zelda’s hands and made her quirk a brow.

Hilda didn’t say sex like that, she whispered it and giggled at terrible cheap novels that could not describe accurate interactions of any sexual nature.

And yet, straddling her own sister, skirt hiked up to her hips, she said the word as plain as day.

Zelda would be proud if she wasn’t so damn turned on.

“Little goose has gotten so bold, all of a sudden.”

She’s smirking, pressing her teeth to the fleshy column of skin between neck and shoulder, and nibbled.

Hilda gasped, hips canting up in response. Zelda wrapped an arm around her, right in that hollow between lower back and upper ass, and thanked Satan for such a responsive sweetheart.

“I may be virginal, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t messed around.”

And suddenly, Zelda’s nails are talons.

“If it’s that man at the shop, I swear to everything unholy—“

“Relax. It was way before then.”

Zelda’s at a loss for words. Hilda just snorted.

“I did have  _some_  friends at the academy, luv. And even some  _dalliances_.”

As much as it made something inside her rage, Zelda was intrigued. And soaking.

Suddenly, it was Hilda’s hands roaming her body, fingers delicate on her collarbones, lightly playing with the tips of her hair.

Zelda decided to play along. Anything so long as she didn’t stop.

“And what, pray tell, were those dalliances like?”

Hilda was starting to blush again. It was adorable.

“What was your type?” She teased, lips pulled into her most sensual smirk.

Fingers wrapped around her hair, and Hilda tugged.

Hard.

“Blonde women. And  _mean_.”

The sound that escaped Zelda’s mouth was pure lust. 

It was captured by Hilda’s lips, the ever-surprising little lark sliding even closer.

Then her eyes widened, and she pulled away, their kiss ending with a resounding  _pop!_

“You’ve distracted me, Zelds!”

Glaring indignant, she crossed her arms in front of her and pouted.

It was so cute, so strikingly different from just a moment before, when her eyes were dark and her tugs on Zelda’s hair a direct tug on her sopping center.

She can’t help but give her own little tug on Hilda’s arm, pressing an apologetic kiss to her warm palm.

“Yes. But please, continue.”

“I just need to know..." And just like that, she was bashful and hesitant once more. "Is this a one-time thing?”

“Satan, I hope not.”

A sharp little nod. Then—

“Is it just sex?”

“... No.”

A slower nod then. Hilda stared at her, like she was the greatest mystery to be solved.

For once, she was the one who squirmed. Arousal was making her a mess, love making her a fool.

She wanted to profess her love in that instant. Couldn't. It was too soon, she didn't want to scare her away again. But also, the pulsing was unbearable, and if she didn't get something of Hilda's deep inside of her and soon, the world was going to explode or she'd do something truly embarrassing.

Too late. The embarrassment was nothing compared to the raging hellfire of lust within her. She was going to be embarrassing. It was happening.

It was wrong, it was pathetic, but she couldn’t help the tiniest bit of whine.

“ _Hildaaa..._ ”

“Oh, screw it.”

And Hilda descended upon her once more.


	3. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas!  
> have some smut.

“Do you think pain and pleasure can walk together?”

She never thought this would ever happen. Even in her wildest, most vivid wet dreams.

They’d moved to the bedroom (Hilda’s, because she’d gotten a new mattress), and suddenly Hilda’d gone all shy.That part, she'd been expecting.

She’d stared at the bed with obvious trepidation, and Zelda had made sure to kiss her only as gently as possible.

_Do you want this?_  She’d asked, bracing herself to be fine when the inevitable No came.

_Yes_.

Hilda had swallowed. Zelda resisted the urge to bite her throat a purple necklace of lovesucks and hickeys.

_How can I help with this?_  She’d meant it. After waiting so long, Hilda deserved whatever kind of first time she liked.

_Can I take the lead?_

She’d been surprised. Pleasantly so.

_But of course_.

And now, here they were. Zelda completely bare, warm and waiting above the bed sheets. Hilda still in her knickers, breasts fully on display at Zelda’s behest.

And Hilda’d asked her question, her cheeks such a lovely pink as she said such a lewd thing.

Zelda could only breathlessly nod and beg her to get on with it.

“Do you even have to ask?”

 

~*~

 

_Oh, Satan below._

She writhed as three fingers entered her again.

She’d been undulating under Hilda’s attention for an eternity, and not once would the little minx let her cum.

And Faustus thought  _his_  kind of sex was torturous.

“You insufferable tease,” she gasped as she was brought to the edge for what had to be the umpteenth time (she’d lost track after four), lips clenching around nothing as Hilda withdrew.

“Call it payback, sister mine.”

She nearly gushed at Hilda’s teasingly innocent, all-too-smug grin.

Impossibly warm, impossibly  _wet_  hands stroked the ivory of her ribs, strong fingers massaging her taut abdomen, both soothing and stoking the fire that’s been burning for what honestly feels like forever.

There was a mess between her thighs, she was practically light headed from want. It was delicious to simply feel Hilda, especially after such a long time of yearning.

But her body was crying for release, and she was ready to orgasm and tap out. Lose Hilda’s virginity ( _finally!_ ) on her tongue and then sleep for a day and a half.

But Hilda’s oh so talented fingers were at it again, fluttering within her, and she could practically weep from technique alone.

“I thought you” a gasp “said you” a choked little groan “were a” the inevitable scream of frustration as Hilda escaped her again.

“Fucking virgin!”

Hilda had the nerve to laugh.

“I am. The other girls,” a little bob of her head. Zelda wondered how someone so sweet could simultaneously be so evil.

Looming above her, Hilda winked.

“They weren't. Taught me a few tricks.”

A few tricks _indeed_.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Zelda murmured, pulling Hilda’s head to her chest, shivering as a tongue licked a long stripe from the bottom of her breast all the way up. “Don’t think that I won’t.”

Hilda was laughing around her nipple, the sensation causing her folds to twitch, and she knew that threat was useless now.

“Not if I kill you first.”

Her head was barely off the pillow, questioning accusation coloring her eyes, when it’s flung back again, because Hilda entered her.

And then Hilda’s kissing her, tongue plundering in time with her fingers, and Zelda’s sure she’d never been so enthralled by any other lover or orgy she’d ever had.

Made sense, really.

None of them were Hilda.

Suddenly, Hilda’s lips left hers and she honestly couldn’t help the reedy whine that escaped her. The hand not filling her was at her throat, just resting there, and Hilda was looking down at her with a question in her eyes.

_Do you trust me?_

Zelda nodded.

_With my life_.

Then the hand was tightening at the sides, and her lightheadedness began in earnest.

Breathless, she kept her eyes open, could only stare at her sister’s face.

She was smiling at her in wonder and whispering the sweetest things even as her fingers moved within her and held fast at her throat.

Zelda could smell the lemon zest of her, feel the warmth her skin provided. Her tongue ran across her lips, retasting the sweet mint of her sister’s mouth. Every sense was filled by her sister. Her vision blurred.

She was consumed by Hilda and all of Hilda.

It was always her. Only her.

The hand releases. Breath flooded her.

And suddenly she’s coming, long and hard and so damn satisfying.

It had never lasted so long before, rushing through her entire body, from the tips of her toes to the individual strands of her hair.

Everything coming up Hilda. Everything surrounded by her, as if Zelda had been covered and swallowed up in her heart, pulsing to the beat of her blood.

When she comes back to her senses, Hilda’s still inside her, slowly helping her ride out her high, the hand that had been around her neck now soft on her twitching thighs.

When she’s stopped panting and her hips stopped rolling, Hilda pulled out her fingers, collapsing alongside her breathless sister. Zelda was already groggy as she rolled to face her, lingering shocks of pleasure making the task difficult. Hilda draped the blanket over her heaving body, fingers splayed out across her hip.

With all the strength she could muster, she pressed a hand to Hilda’s cheek.

“You are a bloody wonder.”

Hilda’s nose wrinkled, and Zelda laughed.

“Believe you me, it was completely a compliment.”

Then she’s all smiles and pressed a quick, astonishingly chaste kiss to her lips and Zelda knew her life could not get more glorious than this.

Then, a twinge of guilt.

Then a bucketful.

“Oh—Oh Hilda. You didn’t get to—I can still—“

“Nonsense.”

It took absolutely no pressure for her to be pushed back down. Hilda simply wriggled closer, so they were nose to nose.

“I really,” it was Hilda’s turn to be breathless. “Really,  _really_  enjoyed that.”

They both giggled, inhibitions and decorum stripped away by exhaustion and one fucking fantastic orgasm. In Zelda's defense, it had felt like thirty. No one could remain stoic after that.

“But I had such plans...”

“Easily enough done tomorrow.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know if I’ll be awake and functioning till next week.”

“I’m fine with that.”

Something in Hilda’s voice made her pause, she looked up from their intertwined fingers.

The darling was worrying her bottom lip between those white teeth, a low look caught in her suddenly runny eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just...”

She didn’t answer till Zelda gently prodded her.

“I’ve only ever been on the giving end, not receiving. Which is fine! Certainly don't mind, but...”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, and it crushed Zelda’s heart.

“I want to, Hilda.”

The hopeful fear and willing trust looking back at her was something she could not possibly deserve.

“I’d  _love_  to.”

A sniffle.

She winked and drew out a guppy laugh as her little sister burrowed into her side. She pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Just you wait, little sister. As soon as I can feel my legs again, you won’t be able to feel yours.”

She wrapped her arms around Hilda then, sleep tugging at both their eyes.

“Sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

“Looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm tempted to write about a companion three-parter with hilda's side of things, or mebbe just one chapter. or mebbe nothing. dunno yet! lemme know if you've got any thoughts on the matter


End file.
